Quarantine
by Tidia
Summary: Athos and d'Artagnan arrive in Chaumont and find themselves separated from their friends and trapped in the town.
1. Chapter 1

Quarantine

By: Tidia

Beta: That Girl Six

Requested by: Phantom Dragon

Notes: I didn't set out to add so many characters, but as it takes place in a town and a town has people. Phantom Dragon wanted an angsty story, and I hope this delivers what she wants. Athos started talking to me more, which was unexpected.

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><p><span>Athos<span>

Day 1

Athos glanced over to d'Artagnan as they rode to Chaumont. d'Artagnan returned the look with a glance. They had made it to Chaumont earlier than expected, which meant it would be Aramis and Porthos paying for dinner and wine.

"I am looking forward to a bed tonight," d'Artagnan commented. Three days on the road delivering missives with Aramis and Porthos acting as decoys was more than enough.

The older man focused forward, also dreaming about a soft bed as their journey was almost over after a stop in Chaumont. They entered the town limits, a pretty town of the north, welcoming with its greenery over rocky terrain. Yet, Athos noticed the quietness in what was usually a busy area. He glanced around in suspicion. "Let's settle the rooms first."

"I'll take the horses to the stable," d'Artagnan volunteered with a smile that showed itself more frequently away from Paris and Constance.

Athos dismounted by the stable so d'Artagnan could escort the horses in. It was diagonal from the nearest inn. He frowned since no one was there to greet them, but the young musketeer did not seem to be concerned. Having grown up on the farm d'Artagnan was accustomed to taking care of his own animals.

Athos glanced about the street. He saw a woman, head down and walking quickly. A dog barked in the distance. It was unnatural. Although he hadn't been through Chaumont in years, he did not recall any news about trouble. He hoped the inn provided some answers on the silence. He approached with a wariness starting to seep into his skin.

"Hello? Anyone here?" Athos called out. He heard footsteps behind him.

"There is no one in town," d'Artagnan announced. "I do not have a good feeling about this."

Neither did Athos. He hadn't moved past the front desk but now took it upon himself to head up the wooden stairs and continue to call out. d'Artagnan remained at the first level to scout the outside area.

"Athos, down here." d'Artagnan had come up the stairs part of the way to find him. The older musketeer had found nothing but empty rooms. He thought he had found the main bedroom of the owners, but everything seemed in place there as far as he could tell.

When Athos reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw d'Artagnan with his head down, leaning against the wall. "Seems as though the quarantine flag is no longer visible."

Athos slowed his steps. _Quarantine. He hadn't just heard that word._

There was a priest with the Gascon who swayed slightly then stilled under the directed gaze of the former noble. Athos could smell wine, knowing his old friend and its scent intimately. It brought up an anger towards the priest for the same reason he was mad at himself: the wine only served to numb. "Quarantine? When? Why?" Athos reined himself in. "Father?"

"Ricard," the priest replied, bringing a hand under his ruddy nose. He wiped it back and forth, muffling his speech. "The Quirin boys promised me the flags were secured, but I saw you come in."

"They are not." Athos accentuated each word in a clipped tone that had the priest taking a step back. "This town has the plague?"

"Christ, The Black Death," d'Artagnan said, still leaning against the wall as if he was holding it up.

Athos ran a hand down his mouth. They were trapped. His mind couldn't, wouldn't contemplate that he and d'Artagnan would die here. He sought to find some grounding, curling his toes in his boots. "Are you providing sanctuary at the church?"

Father Ricard shook his head while keeping a horrified look on his face at that suggestion. "No. There is no entrance there. The people who are ill are brought to the tavern."

"The tavern." d'Artagnan pushed away from the wall to loom over the priest, using his height advantage much like Porthos did to be menacing. "Is there a physician?"

The priest nodded, his hand returning to his nose again. "Yes, he's still with us. Thank the Lord." Father Ricard made the sign of the cross.

Athos's anger flared again at the motion the priest made with his cross. He thought of Aramis and the cursed rosary of the Queen. But this was not the time. These lands were overseen by the Baron du Haute Marne. "Has the baron been informed?"

"A message was sent through a passerby. We can only assume it reached him."

Athos rubbed his beard. It was not good to assume and trust a traveler to impart important messages, especially involving the plague. One did not wish to be marked by it or have others believe he carried it. Athos was quite sure that message was never delivered. "And his man here?"

"Dead. You are in his inn. They were the first." The priest took another step back as if trying to protect himself from the unseen disease filtering through the town.

The older musketeer had been in the presence of the priest enough and sought to dismiss him. "We'll see to it the quarantine flags are in place. Can you send the lads to us? We will need them as lookouts."

"Yes, I will send them." Father Ricard paused for a moment after repeating he would send the boys. "They have not succumbed." The priest patted his cassock over his belly. "I am sorry for your misfortune."

d'Artagnan pulled his gloves from his belt, twisting them in his hands. "Father, will you be tending to the sick?"

"I will be in the church." The priest turned away.

"With the wine," d'Artagnan mumbled loudly as from the window they watched Father Ricard walk down the street, weaving from side to side until he disappeared from their sight. "I don't trust him."

"Do not judge." Athos craved wine and knew he would give in before the day was done. It was easy to be overcome by a need for wine to make life or death bearable. In order to bear the plague, Athos knew he would need the fortification only spirits could provide. Anne would have her wish with one of them leaving the world to give the other one peace.

The two musketeers seemed momentarily lost, but by silent agreement they ambled to the stables, waiting for the boys to find them. Posting the flags was of the utmost importance, if only to warn their friends before their arrival.

"The plague. I never thought. . ." d'Artagnan started only to halt and go down a different path. "Castelnavet, next to Lupiac, was destroyed by the plague. We were in fear for a long time that it would spread. There were stories. It brings out the worst in people."

Athos patted his horse. There was the looting, fighting for food, the bodies left unburied. He shared none of this with d'Artagnan. Better not to confirm the stories as the truth, willing the residents of Chaumont to be good neighbors and help each other.

They walked their horses out and were greeted by two boys, not yet teens, hurrying towards them.

"Are you the Quirin boys?" Athos recalled the name the priest had given. The taller boy had darker hair, curling around his ears, while the younger one had lighter hair, the color of sand that fell into his eyelashes.

"Yes, Monsieur. I am Adolphe, and this is my brother, Dion," the older one made an introduction while the younger one remained silent, his red rimmed eyes accentuated by his hair.

"Are you well?" d'Artagnan asked, placing a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. He flinched away with a wild look at Adolphe.

Adolphe gave his sibling a nod, then provided an explanation. "We lost our mother."

"I am sorry." Athos bowed his head, as did d'Artagnan. They gave the woman a moment of silence. He forgot how much normal children relied on their parents, whereas for the nobility it was the tutors, servants, and governesses who provided the comfort. His parents sorted out expectations and disapproval. They had died before Athos had met Anne. Without their influence on his decision, he chose a commoner. It would not have happened had his parents been alive.

d'Artagnan gave the smaller boy's shoulder a squeeze before clearing his throat, eyeing the young men in mock scrutiny. He crouched so he could be at their level. "I can see you are brave men. What do you say, Athos?"

Athos played a long, understanding d'Artagnan's intentions. He walked in front of them in an imitation of Treville addressing the troops. "Quite. I think they can take on a mission."

"A mission?" Adolphe asked, standing straighter.

"A Musketeer mission," d'Artagnan added, pointing to his pauldron still too new, much too new, but the boys were impressed.

"Do you know two other brave ones?" Athos asked, still pacing back and forth, which helped him form an idea of sorts to keep some safe.

Anton pondered this for a moment. Athos could see he was a contemplative child, earnest in his seriousness of responsibility towards his brother. "Our cousins, Yves and Laure."

"She's a girl," Dion said quietly in a voice that had been in disuse as it was rough. Mourning had caused the stillness. Athos spared a glanced to d'Artagnan. There was a small grin on the younger man's face. Unspoken was that a girl could not be a Musketeer.

d'Artagnan bowed to Dion, bringing his head in closer to the boy. "I know a girl who can use a sword and a musket. She's as brave as any man."

His description of Constance sounded wistful, wishing he were with her than in this town stuck in the Black Death where he would never see her again. Athos would not see his wife; death would finally end it all. He wasn't ready to leave this world yet, as much as he craved it. He shook his head to break the impasse. It couldn't end in this way for d'Artagnan at least. "Find them, then meet us at the entrance to the east and send them to the entrance at the west."

"Wait, you'll need provisions on this mission." d'Artagnan opened one of his saddle bags on his patiently waiting horse, took out a wrapped cloth, which Athos knew contained dried meat. He handed it to the oldest boy. Both of their young faces lit up, probably having not eaten well since their mother's death. "Share it," d'Artagnan ordered.

The boys scampered away to seek out their cousins and commit themselves to their missions. Athos and d'Artagnan watched them for a while before mounting their horses.

"Provisions?" Athos teased at his protégé's softheartedness.

d'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders. "I remember when my mother died and my father was lost. They shouldn't go hungry."

Athos never worried about food. He wondered if d'Artagnan's leanness was a result of subsisting on minimal foods at times although he had height. "We will use my provisions if need be."

Until a little before the sunset, they set up the quarantine flags of yellow at the main entrances to the town. Athos decided if someone wanted to come through the woods, they were there for nefarious purposes, deserving to be quarantined.

The children were in position to provide warnings and to report to them a sighting of other musketeers. It was the job of adults, but no child need be among the destruction of the plague. Athos approved of d'Artagnan's idea of treating the duty like a game.

When they finished, they returned to the town and headed to the tavern near the inn. It was an odd choice for a makeshift infirmary, but understandable if the church would not provide solace. They were greeted by the sour smell of vomit and the moaning of the sick as they lay on blankets on the floor.

There were others who seemed to be doing the tending, forcing water on their patients or wine. There seemed to be no one in charge so Athos made an announcement.

"We're Athos and d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers."

An older, portly gentleman came to standing with a groan, but he looked around them seeking more. "What are you doing here? Why did you break the quarantine? Did you bring help?"

Athos shook his head. "We were misinformed about the quarantine. And you are?"

"The physician, Lucien Campion." He wiped his hands on his apron. "Come, let us talk privately. Marie, call me if I am needed." He gestured for them to follow him outside, then around to the side to another building where they went up the wooden stairs.

There was a room reminiscent of Athos's apartment in Paris, down to the wine bottles on the table. Impoverished, but there was evidence at one point it had been clean.

d'Artagnan gestured to the bottles. "Is everyone a drunkard in this town?"

"You have met Father Ricard, eh?" The physician cleared some of the bottles and opened a fresh one, placing a cup in front of each of them as they sat.

"We've had the pleasure." Athos was more civilized with his opinion.

Lucien drained his cup, eyed the bottle again, but stopped himself. Athos recognized the action. "Father Ricard uses the wine to forget. I use it to accept that we are surrounded by death and I am helpless."

"When did this start?" d'Artagnan asked, taking a deep drink. "The priest mentioned the inn keeper?"

"Victor and his wife." The physician nodded. "I did not want to believe it was the plague at first, but then the others..."

"Why did you not believe it was the plague?" Athos was familiar with the symptoms, having seen the dreaded Black Death come to France.

"Their necks are not swollen, no buboes, but the weakness, the fever is all there." The physician rubbed his eyes.

Regardless of what it was, it brought death.

d'Artagnan glanced at Athos. "Monsieur, you should probably rest. We've made sure no other unsuspecting traveler will enter and will help where we can."

Athos admired the new musketeer's earnestness, wondering how long it would last after the bodies were buried. The only help the former noble man could think about offering was soldiering. It did not fit.

The physician nodded, and the musketeers excused themselves to allow the man some peace before returning to the makeshift infirmary.

The remaining citizens of Chaumont were shut in, leaving the streets empty. "We should patrol, become familiar with the area, secure weapons," Athos suggested as they started their walk. It was true what d'Artagnan had said earlier: there could be looting from desperation. Better to put a stop to it before it could start. The church was ahead, the largest and strongest building in the area with a high tower for a better view of the surrounding area. "I also would like some wine."

d'Artagnan nodded and followed, lost in his own thoughts. Athos did not want to pry. There would be time for confessions and conversation.

The priest was disappointed to see them, but he allowed them entry and took the bottles without a fuss. It may have been Athos's hand on his sword or the disgust on d'Artagnan's face that caused no quarrel.

They decided the inn would be where they would sleep. They could have separated, had their pick of rooms, but instead stayed in the same room to rest. Athos slept, seeking to wake up in his own apartment instead of Chaumont.

(())

d'Artagnan

Day 2

d'Artagnan dug holes with a scarf wrapped over his mouth like the other men. Athos had gone to get the priest and more wine. The older musketeer made an oath that only wine would pass through his lips, much like the physician and the priest. d'Artagnan would have agreed but was used to cool water while working on the fields. He had filled his skin with water, taking ample drinks throughout the day.

The priest had stumbled in, obviously providing the blessings under protest. But he sprinkled the holy water, and the men gathered their bowed their heads during the prayers.

Once Father Ricard left, d'Artagnan returned to digging.

"Stop," Athos said, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I want to finish." The backbreaking work left him sore, unthinking in the monotony of many bodies to bury with no one organizing the work to be done. Athos and d'Artagnan had made a plan as best they could to help the people of Chaumont until they could no longer.

_No longer be alive._

d'Artagnan allowed Athos to pull the shovel from his hands, guide him away, and push a wineskin towards him. "Rest."

It was a cloudless sky, blue in magnificence, but the hard-packed dirt with multiple graves in the cemetery was not the place for this type of day. These graves would mostly go unmarked, which sickened d'Artagnan. No one would know where to mourn or to place flowers.

They saw Adolphe coming towards them at a fast pace, a trickle of sweat on the side of his face. "Monsieurs, the other musketeers are here!" Adolphe took a few deep breaths. "Dion is watching them."

d'Artagnan tried to hide his grin at the thought that a little boy was holding off Aramis and Porthos.

"Thank you, Adolphe. We should make haste." It would be good to take the horses out for a bit.

d'Artagnan lifted Adolphe to Athos's waiting arms. He sat the young boy in front of him. The boy smiled tremendously in awe of being with a musketeer on his horse.

The Gascon could no longer hide his grin as he recognized the feeling that young Adolphe was exuding. He thought he would be a musketeer for a long time, or at least until he was cut down defending King and country, not plague. d'Artagnan wanted to share with the boys how he himself had been the son of a farmer and had made it to be part of the king's guard. Would they be the last to know his tale?

Once the thoughts started he could not control them. d'Artagnan licked his lips, frowned as he returned his concentration to his horse and seeing his friends. The Gascon had to concentrate on the moment, not the limited future.

There seem to be a staring contest between Dion, who held the quarantine flag and Porthos, who looked to be edging closer to the boy. Aramis remained in the distance with his arms crossed.

"Porthos, come no further," Athos called out as he deposited Adolphe gently to the ground. The older Quirin sibling ran over to his brother, pulling him further away from Porthos.

"Congratulations on getting to Chaumont first," Aramis quipped. "This wasn't the welcome we expected."

"Is this true?" Porthos pointed to the yellow warning. "The plague?"

d'Artagnan and Athos dismounted from their horses with d'Artagnan gesturing to the boys to come closer to them so they could hold the horses while the musketeers talked.

"It's true." They walked so they were in the middle between their friends and the boys. They could go no further.

Aramis mounted his horse.

"What are you doing?" Athos asked, putting his hands up.

"Coming in," Aramis replied, his clothes dusty from their travels along the countryside.

"No," Athos ordered. "Porthos, stop him."

They were the inseparables, pulled to be with each other at the bitter end. It was selfish, but d'Artagnan did wish they were all together. He had the belief that nothing was insurmountable for the four of them together. The thought almost bubbled out of d'Artagnan, but he stopped himself as it made him sound boyish.

"There is already a physician here," d'Artagnan added. The man was overworked but had not become ill. d'Artagnan had hoped to help, but the bodies required internment first.

Aramis dismounted, stepped closer to Porthos. "What are the symptoms?"

"Vomiting, fever, weakness," d'Artagnan listed them off as he remembered them.

Aramis wiped a hand down his face, all but confirming he thought it was some sort of deadly disease, too.

"The young lads?" Porthos asked, gesturing to Adolphe and Dion, who were talking to the horses.

d'Artagnan wished they could send them out of Chaumont, but they had to remain. "They've been exposed."

"Go to Paris; return with supplies and give a report. Bring these back." Athos tossed the papers he was supposed to deliver.

Aramis caught them. "Even in darkness there is light. I hope God will let this pass by you." He took off his rosary, laying it down on a rock. "When I return you better be wearing it, Athos."

"Stay alive. We'll be back. We owe you some wine." Porthos seemed to study them for a moment.

"The best money can buy," d'Artagnan added. What they had been drinking was below mediocre.

Athos and d'Artagnan remained, watching until they could no longer see their friends. The young musketeer walked over to the rosary to bring to Athos, who hesitated before slipping it around his neck, hiding it from sight.

d'Artagnan patted it before they turned to retrieve their horses. They left Adolphe and Dion to their duties to return to the town center.

"I'm going to assist the physician."

Athos raised his brows.

"I tended to the animals on the farm. It's not much, but it's something." It was a task, something to do instead of waiting for the plague to find them. "Unless there is some other duty for me?"

Athos shook his head. "I will check on Yves and Laure. See about arranging for others to assist them and feed them. Ask about weapon stores."

"Perhaps we can find the time for sword work? Maybe train some new recruits?" This was far from a normal situation, but d'Artagnan craved it. He knew Athos did as well. All was better with a sword in hand.

"Very well." Athos bowed his head.

They parted with d'Artagnan steeling himself as he entered the tavern. Lucien was sitting in a chair by a window, his head bowed, looking like he was sleeping. A woman was moaning.

Her lips were dried and cracked. d'Artagnan saw the empty pitcher and sought the well, filling the pitcher with water, then filling the bowl. He helped the woman sit up, offering her the bowl to drink from.

She drank like a bird, coughing, then settling once again. He laid her back down. Spending time going from person to person, adding a blanket, changing a cloth placed on a forehead to cool the fevers. There were another two caregivers along with him. Not enough to tend to all the patients.

"There are more upstairs," the physician said beside him, still disheveled. "This isn't musketeer work."

d'Artagnan shook his head. There was no justice in illness, nothing tangible to fight.

Athos

Laure and Yves had been quarreling, so they sat at a distance from each other on their own rocks. Athos found himself acting as a diplomat between warring parties. He approached Yves first, who explained the difficulties of having a sister to watch over, but also that he was not going to give in on his point.

"You are arguing over who will be the first to call the warning to someone passing by?" Athos repeated to make sure he fully understood.

The boy puffed out his chest and pointed to himself. "I should do it. I'm older."

"That is a valid point." Athos recognized the same justification he'd used as a boy with his brother. _Oh, had Thomas hated that line of reasoning. _

He approached Laure with a bow, but she kept turning her back on him because he had spoken to her brother first. "Mademoiselle, your brother would like to give out the warning to any visitors."

Laure showed her disgust at that suggestion. "No. That's not fair. I am never allowed to do anything, and I yell louder."

"I see. That is an important skill," he agreed because he was at a loss for words. There had been no little girls at La Fere. However, he thought of an idea. "Mademoiselle, you are also very graceful. Perhaps you should rest your voice and wave the flag." He leaned into her and lowered his voice. "The flag is always noticed first."

The girl's eyes drifted to the flag. "_He_ can give the warning first, but he can only say it _once_."

Athos nodded. "Not only graceful but wise. Would you like to tell your brother?"

She stood up and marched over to her brother and hugged Yves. Sisters and women were so different than brothers and men.

Athos waved to them to make his exit. He would send d'Artagnan next time to deal with the children.

His next visit was to visit Adolphe and Dion's father. The boys had assured him they had gotten their father's permission, but Athos felt responsible. Although the roads in Chaumont were quiet, Athos noticed that it seemed as though the disease had not reached the outskirts of the town. There was life present in the flowers, the animals, and movement inside and around homes.

The Quirin home was simple, and Athos could sense the shroud of mourning that veiled over the homestead. Athos called out when he knocked on the door and found no reply.

"In the back," a voice called out.

Athos followed the voice and the sound of hammering, finding a man fixing a chicken coop. "Sir, my name is Athos of the King's Musketeers. Your sons are providing us a service."

"Jean," the man put down the hammer and introduced himself. "Adolphe and Dion informed me. I should thank you; since their mother died I haven't been tending to them as I should."

"Was yours the only house touched?" Athos could see a few homes in the distance with the same sloping roofs, wood, and stone.

Jean scuffed his boot, looking down on the ground. "Yes, in this part. My wife's sister became ill, and she went to help. I begged her not to, but she told me she was strong."

"I am sorry," Athos said, very uncomfortable with the widower. "Father Ricard said that the baron's man has died. Is there anyone who will take his place?"

"Probably Firmin. He's a pompous ass." Jean pointed in the opposite direction. "You'll find his chateau past the town center a ways."

Athos nodded. "Does the town have a store of weapons?"

Jean frowned. "Taken to the chateau."

"Thank you." Athos would plan to visit tomorrow along with d'Artagnan. They needed those weapons and was nervous about them being held in an unknown location with illness rampant. "Would you like your sons at home?"

"No." Jean shook his head. "They've told me they are training to be musketeers, and that musketeers do not get the plague."

Athos hoped that was the case.

d'Artagnan

d'Artagnan was at the well filling up the buckets when he saw Athos. Sitting on the stone edge, he resisted accepting the death surrounding him. With the bucket up, he scooped a drink with his hands.

"Are you ready to check on our other charges?" Athos asked, holding both the horses.

"As soon as I bring these to Lucien. I will be a moment." d'Artagnan brought the water to the physician and informed him he and Athos would be checking the perimeter of the town.

Athos informed him of the events so far, and d'Artagnan tried to hide his amusement as he pictured the older musketeer dealing with willful children. "We will have to tell Treville about this," d'Artagnan teased the older man.

"I will not hear the end of this, will I?"

d'Artagnan decided not to reply, looking forward to informing Porthos and Aramis, hoping he would be able to tell them. They had to survive to see their friends.

Athos, though, got the last word when it came to their rapiers. Adolphe and Dion provided a rapt audience of apt pupils. d'Artagnan helped Dion while Athos gave his attention to Adolphe, correcting his stance. The Gascon wondered how long Athos was married and if there had been a child lost before Milady's hanging. Athos would have made a great father, a patient and attentive one. This made d'Artagnan think about his father, and his stomach twisted in response.

_He could be seeing his father in the next life soon._

d'Artagnan adjusted the stick in Dion's hand, guided the young boy in the motions he found awkward. "If you practice, then you'll be able to triumph over your big brother." He said it loud enough for Athos to hear.

"That day is a long way off, Adolphe," Athos replied.

d'Artagnan did not hide his laughter this time. There was hope that if these children were still well, then maybe they would survive. They would not join their mother. "Are we to quarantine for forty days?" He hadn't thought about the length of time until now, because he was so overwhelmed.

Athos squinted into the sun. "Perhaps shorter depending on what the physician tells us, but we should plan for those days."

They returned to the town and walked through on a casual patrol before returning to the inn for the evening. Athos retrieved a few more bottles of wine for the evening and the next day. They had hunted for game, cooking some for the boys and taking the rest back with them to eat at the inn.

"If I were to be trapped in quarantine, I am glad it is with you." d'Artagnan felt his cheeks heat in a blush. "Because Aramis and Porthos would talk too much, of course," he added the quip for his comfort.

"I am the better company." Athos raised his glass.

d'Artagnan nodded, glad his friend understood what was left unsaid. _Thank you for believing in me._


	2. Chapter 2

d'Artagnan

Day 3

Firmina Bau, according to Jean Quirin and Luicen, would be the next leader of the town. It seemed as if both men shared the same low opinion of the man. Athos decided they needed to pay the man a visit.

d'Artagnan was surprised at the guarded home. The rest of Chaumont stayed in their homes for protection, only leaving to bring the sick to the physician.

"We are the King's Musketeers requesting to speak to Firmin Bau," Athos said to one of the guards, not dismounting.

"He's been expecting you." The guard carried two muskets and a sword. The weapons, it seemed, were being used, not stored.

d'Artagnan raised his brow at Athos. He followed Athos's lead to a larger hall with a table filled with food. Firmin was seated at the head, his wife by his side. It was a decadence that disgusted d'Artagnan when he knew what lay further down the road. This was not Paris where he'd grown accustomed to the ostentatiousness of the ruling house, but a town seeking to survive.

"So sorry that you entered Chaumont unaware." Firmin greeted them waving a fork. "Please sit. Be our guest."

Remaining standing, there would be no sitting with this man or breaking bread. "We wanted to make you aware that we will provide protection to the town. Our friends have been sent to return with supplies."

"You're staying at the inn that is ours now," Firmin's wife, a heavy set woman remarked in a shrill voice.

"You wish for payment, _Madame_?" d'Artagnan interrupted, although he stepped back with a shoulder shrug from Athos. He found shrill women revolting.

Firmin patted his wife's hand. "No, no, as you said, you are providing a service."

"Thank you, you are most kind." Athos bowed before turning to leave.

The lady of the house called after them. "We have been praying for those afflicted and to spare us."

d'Artagnan and Athos walked unimpeded, but they were both taking in their environment for a tactical advantage. Only once they had mounted and left the chateau did d'Artagnan feel free to speak. "I don't trust him either."

"There is not much to trust. Father Ricard and Firmin Bau."

"I have yet to meet a trustworthy priest." d'Artagnan snorted.

"And why the blanket distrust of the clergy? Albeit our Cardinal is not a fine example," Athos quipped, his stance in the saddle rigid and alert.

There should be someone to know his stories, know more about him and his past even though they could die here. "My mother died during Lent, and the priest would not ring the bells because of the laws of the church." His mother died when he was young, and now any likeness of her had been destroyed in his home in Lupiac. "My father said the laws of the church required priests to be celibate and not have mistresses."

Athos snorted. "Your father was a brave man."

It was common for priests to have mistresses, widows who needed the protection of the church. "He was," d'Artagnan said solemnly, feeling the tug of melancholy from the loss of his father and the threat of being stricken by the plague. He tried shaking the feeling. "Am I to accompany you to see Laure and Yves in case there is another conflict? This time there could be bloodshed. Two blades are better than one."

"Just you wait," Athos threatened, taking his horse slightly ahead.

d'Artagnan enjoyed spending time with the children and Athos's discomfort around them, trying to treat them as if they were small adults. However, he was chagrinned. Laure decided that when she grew up she was going to marry d'Artagnan, much to Athos's delight.

"You do have a way with women." Athos snickered.

It was good to see Athos in good humor when mentioning women. The wounds of his wife were healing but would always be there. Then there was his Constance. They were also never to be, but if the plague had its way, he would be a memory.

((()))

Aramis

Day 4

Treville was hesitant to let Aramis and Porthos take the supplies to Chaumont. Aramis knew he was weighing Athos's wishes, and both Aramis and Porthos were tempted to break through the quarantine to be with their friends.

Aramis swore they would respect the quarantine. The least they could do was bring supplies, help in healing the town. The wagon was filled with Treville's blessings, plus an expectation of their return with their brothers. _Alive._

The trip between Porthos and Aramis was tense with worry as to what they would find. They were trying to provide support to each other.

"They're strong. The plague might not even get them," Porthos started, maneuvering the wagon as they were long outside of Paris.

"Exactly." Aramis recalled the last time he had seen the Black Death leave its marks. "I don't recall any musketeer being afflicted, and remember three years ago?"

"Aye, I remember."

None of the musketeers were affected, but there were still the ravages of the sickness, the dissemination of families, along with the fear.

Aramis feared for his friends. _O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of your Mercy. Amen. _He missed the rosary, but perhaps the protection it provided Ninon would be there for Athos and d'Artagnan. "They'll be happy for the supplies."

"Still feel like we should have brought some more weapons," Porthos said again. It had been a bone of contention as Porthos worried about the townspeople taking up arms against d'Artagnan and Athos.

"Chaumont is friendly," Aramis reassured Porthos once more, as had Treville.

Porthos snickered as something humorous must have entered his thoughts. "Do you think Athos and d'Artagnan made friends?"

Aramis grinned. "True. We are the most hospitable of our group." Athos was a man of few words, while d'Artagnan was still maneuvering his social skills. In truth they needed each other, parts of a whole that worked together.

They camped out in the open instead of an inn so they could protect the supplies. At midday they stopped to allow the horses to rest for a short time.

"Do you hear that?" Aramis asked, pausing mid-bite, tossing his food to the side as he came to standing.

Porthos took cover as musket fire hit the tree while Aramis fired back. He found cover near his friend. They eyed each other to form a plan to circle around and find out how many men were attacking.

Aramis put his hand up signaling five men, which Porthos confirmed. Five men they could handle. Aramis loaded his musket and rifle, taking out two, while Porthos took out another one. Then it was sword work, and it was over. The King's Musketeers were, after all, the best.

"They attacked us for the supplies?" Porthos huffed as they piled the bodies, looking for anything to distinguish them or the reason for the attack.

"How did they know we were delivering supplies?" Aramis asked, going through their saddles bags to only find the basic needs packed.

Porthos rubbed the scarf on his head. "You don't think those two found trouble?"

"Those two?" Aramis scoffed, coming to the same conclusion. "Of course." It was why he'd started a novena three days ago.

((()))

d'Artagnan

Day 5

They followed a pattern of checking in on the youngsters in the morning. d'Artagnan would then help the physician or help bury bodies while Athos patrolled the town until he came back for another trip to see the children and their musketeer training. Athos was trying to create an environment where they could detach, but d'Artagnan was finding it impossible. He admired Athos for his ability to do so, although the young musketeer knew it was only skin deep. The wine was helping Athos to cope, too.

d'Artagnan was also fortifying himself with wine. He could drink. As a farm boy there was not much to do on cold nights. Even time spent with friends was to partake in wine and spirits. However, he would only drink at night with Athos, keeping his wits about him during the day.

The town was dwindling; another two people were brought in with three more dying. The priest was locked up tight in the rectory, although Athos mentioned visiting the man, if only to check that he was among the living. d'Artagnan also believed Athos had divested Father Ricard of more wine but never asked about it.

They had settled in for the night with no tavern to go to, no gambling or women. Weapons were cleaned regularly. d'Artagnan had asked the physician and the other caregivers for books. A few turned up, which he presented to Athos. The man seemed to be touched at the little effort d'Artagnan had gone through for him.

Athos read Ovid to d'Artagnan. The older musketeer explained they were letters from the Greek heroes about being separated by loved ones. It was a warped comparison of their trial. Athos read with a steady voice that helped d'Artagnan to doze even with his mind filled with thoughts of sickness.

Both dozed off as the night went on until they were startled awake by an explosion.

"It's starting," Athos said while pulling on his clothes.

d'Artagnan was puzzled at first. He mimicked Athos pulling his clothes on, but he moved to the window to see a storefront ablaze, men with muskets with their faces covered. "They are going to destroy the town."

With synchronicity they left the safety of the inn. Six men armed with swords, clubs, muskets broke windows and tore down doors to enter into homes and businesses.

"It's happening," d'Artagnan whispered, recalling the town near Lupiac. He had hoped Chaumont would be spared. People turned on each other when in desperation.

"There is no finesse in dealing with looters," Athos said as he shot one and reloaded, catching them unaware. d'Artagnan fired and reloaded, willing his fingers to go faster with the powder and paper. They stepped closer to the melee as Athos reloaded; d'Artagnan saw someone aim towards his friend. Giving his mentor a shove, the musket ball cut a groove in his arm.

"d'Artagnan." Athos got his balance, placing a hand on d'Artagnan's arm to stop the bleeding.

The younger man winced but shook off his friend. "It's fine." The wound burned_._ "Can we finish this?" The rest would be swords. Trained musketeers with rapiers were no match for cowards who hid their faces to attach the plagued town. What few remained ran into the night.

Athos ripped a piece of his shirt, still concerned over d'Artagnan's wound.

"Getting shot in the arm actually is better than the side," he commented as they took a few minutes to tend to the wound. The injury throbbed enough to remind him he would not lose consciousness as he had with the wound on his side.

"I can help with that." Lucien the physician came forward holding a candle to light the way.

d'Artagnan shook his head. "I'm fine."

"You may want to see if any of them are alive." Athos gestured to the four bodies on the street.

d'Artagnan tried to not grin at Athos's claim of ownership. Only the nobleman would take care of the young musketeer.

Lucien returned a few moments later. "You'll need Father Ricard. They are past my skills, but there is another problem."

"Which is?" Athos drawled, tying a piece of his shirt to the wound. d'Artagnan remained quiet during the ministrations to gage Athos's guilt, along with a mode of action to remove it.

"They aren't from here." Lucien frowned. "I've been a physician here for decades, and I have never seen these men before."

d'Artagnan glanced between the physician and Athos. "These men risked disease to loot?"

"We should check on the children." Athos looked off into the distance.

Lucien lifted the candle higher. "I don't believe these men came from the road."

d'Artagnan, with an ache in his arm, started to connect their meeting with Firmin Bau. "They snuck in or were shown the way."

Athos nodded. "Exactly."

The town not only had the plague, but their leader by default was strong-arming the town, too.

The fear which he had kept at bay with the help of work and Athos bloomed. They were not supposed to leave this town alive.

((()))

Athos

Day 6

Athos tended to d'Artagnan back in their room with supplies given by Lucien. He stitched the Gascon after cleaning the wound and telling him to rest and to sleep in.

"No guilt, Athos," the young man had stressed. "What does Aramis say? It cheapens the moment. You would do the same for me."

The older musketeer could not disagree. It wasn't the injury creating the guilt, but the flatness to d'Artagnan's eyes. Not only did they have to deal with the sickness, but also a battle. He had chosen this town as a meeting point.

At first light of a barely slept night, he procured the assistance of Jean Quirin and his brother, Laure and Yves's father. They were able to muster other men to patrol the town as Athos was not foolish enough to believe he and d'Artagnan would be sufficient with this new threat.

The children were safe and had not had any visitors, assuring Athos they would run to safety. Athos requested they have more of their friends and family join them, whoever was not ill. He returned to the inn to retrieve d'Artagnan and inform him of what had aspired.

"I'm fine. Truly, as I said the side wound was more brutal and realistic as you said." d'Artagnan grinned.

Athos appreciated the joking, but it still did not soften the fact that Athos had shot d'Artagnan, regardless that it had been done with his permission.

"How do you want to settle matters with Monsieur Bau?"

Athos had considered the matter. "I believe we should start with Father Ricard. He's hiding something." He led the way to the church.

The priest had kept the door locked as there was no shelter. There was a side door, which Athos had discovered. This is where he knocked, waiting for Father Ricard to answer.

Once it was open they pushed themselves in. "What do you know of Firmin Bau?"Athos accused having no patience, not with d'Artagnan hurt and being attacked.

Father Ricard backed away, trying to find sanctuary in the church sacristy adorned with gold. The chalice was locked up tight. "He's a pillar of the community, our leader now that there is no one left."

"Have you seen him recently?" Athos asked, wanting to know if there had been communication between the priest and Bau.

"His family are good Catholics." It was a noncommittal answer.

"So they give generously." d'Artagnan shook his head.

"And are pious in their confessions and alms," the priest said, wringing his hands in nervousness.

"Did you know about the looting? There are more dead out there, Father." Athos pointed to the large locked door past the stone floor.

They didn't wait for the answer as they exited through the front door, opening the church.

"The other musketeers are here!" Adolphe jumped up and down to get their attention as he entered the town center to see them coming down the steps of the church.

"Finally," d'Artagnan said.

"Have I not been enough company or Laure?" Athos teased, but also missing Aramis and Porthos, even though they would be kept at a distance. There was much to tell them, and yet they had to respect the quarantine. This would be difficult.

Porthos

The boy remained quiet until Porthos moved, causing Dion to frantically wave the flag to deter him. At this point it was a staring match, which he planned to win against Dion.

"I believe the child takes his position seriously." Aramis stayed by the horses.

"At least he's still here." Porthos studied the boy, the same one who they'd seen when they left Chaumont. "Looks healthy." If Dion was fine, then his friends would be too.

"Just quiet," Aramis added. "Here they come."

Porthos grinned, taking another step forward, but the waving flag stopped him. "They look good." There was no sign of the plague on them. But there was still a chasm between them.

"Tell me you brought weapons!" d'Artagnan yelled out.

Porthos threw his hands up. When would his friends learn about his instincts? There was always a need for weapons. "No, Aramis said you wouldn't need them."

Aramis glared at him, but it had been the sharpshooter's mistake. "What's happened?"

Athos explained the looting and that they were investigating a motive.

"There is more." Porthos could see there was a connection. "We were set upon on the road."

"Are you well?" Athos asked, scrutinizing them further as was his nature to protect his friends from harm, even if he had to pay the price.

"Athos, really." Aramis tsked while d'Artagnan snickered.

"They were dealt with without injury, lad." Porthos grinned, having learned about d'Artagnan's minor wound.

d'Artagnan shrugged in response.

Athos moved to stand next to the younger musketeer. "The supplies are most welcomed. Do you wish to step away so we can retrieve them?"

"We want to help." Porthos wanted to be with his friends, especially when he heard about the looters. They needed help.

"No." Athos was grim. "We will handle this. There are those in the town who are willing to help."

"Our father," the older boy yelled out.

"We also have future musketeers," d'Artagnan added, pulling the boys back further.

Aramis glanced at Porthos. "We will step away but will remain here for some time, if only to keep an eye on the future musketeers."

Porthos did not want to watch his friends from afar but was content they were close by for news at the ready when needed.


	3. Chapter 3

d'Artagnan

Day 7

d'Artagnan felt the nausea, the churning in his stomach along with the heavy malaise. As the others had told him, the illness came on fast. He looked at his friend, not willing to give anything away and wanting to keep him safe. At least Athos could have a chance to survive.

The wound on his arm was itching, and he had hoped infection had set in, but it was healing nicely. It was the illness. d'Artagnan knew the best place for him was the tavern, but Athos would soon arrive to follow their trend. He had to have some distance, so he formed a plan to go to one of the abandoned houses. d'Artagnan waited by the well, drinking from it directly, hoping the water would help ease his stomach and the rising heat he felt.

Athos seemed better with Aramis and Porthos near though trapped outside the town. They would be there for him.

"Why don't you check on the priest? There is wine there, and you do not want to risk soberness," d'Artagnan started as Athos stopped in front of him.

"What?" Athos had been caught unaware.

d'Artagnan flicked the water that had spilled on his hand. "You take in no water, just wine," he added in a tone of annoyance.

"To fortify myself as I suggested you do." Athos frowned.

"Bring some bottles so Porthos and Aramis can watch you drink. It will feel like Paris." d'Artagnan's stomach clenched at his unkindness towards his best friend.

"I do not know what game this is, but I am going to take a ride out to our friends without you. When I return, I hope you are in better humor." Athos pivoted, leaving d'Artagnan to stare at his back.

d'Artagnan was alone with his job well done but making him feel broken. His eyes filled at the thought of his friends. He took in a breath to compose himself before leaving to talk to Lucien.

Athos

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Porthos asked when he saw Athos.

"Set to be the martyr," Athos mumbled. He had allowed d'Artagnan to work with the physician so he would feel productive, but it seemed as though his time amongst the diseased had led him to be judgmental. He had warned the boy about that.

"Something amiss?" Aramis asked, throwing rocks towards Adolphe, who returned them in some kind of odd game.

Athos sat down. He took in his friends across the way, the boys still healthy. He thought about the town, Bau, the priest. He was lost so much in his thoughts that he did not hear anyone calling for him.

"Athos?" Porthos had cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Did Adolphe and Dion show you to the water?" Athos stood up, wandering closer to his friends.

"Yes, they have been very hospitable - at a distance of course," Aramis replied. "We also met their father."

"He lives on the other side." Why hadn't this made sense before? He had to talk to d'Artagnan, warn the others.

"Athos? Where are you going? Athos!" Porthos yelled. He tried to come closer but held himself back.

"I will send word," Athos promised as he mounted his horse.

He galloped into town, bringing his horse closer to the tavern and then to the stable. d'Artagnan was inside, sitting down, bent over with a cup of water in his hands.

"Do not drink that!" He slapped the water out of the young man's hands.

"Stay back, Athos." d'Artagnan pushed the chair back grinding along the wood floor.

Athos saw the flush to the Gascon's skin, the way he swallowed. "You've fallen ill."

d'Artagnan bowed his head. "You returned too quickly.I was not to be here."

Athos stepped away from the younger man so sudden was his anger. "You wanted to be alone? Like an animal?" d'Artagnan was going to hide from him to spare him further sorrow. That was the cause of the rudeness.

"There is an abandoned house and Lucien. . ."

The older musketeer sought out the physician, who shook his head as if condoning the younger man's actions but being helpless against them.

Athos put his hands out, forced d'Artagnan to stand. "It's poison, not illness, you fool. You will not die." There had to be a cure or something more to be done. "It's poison. Treat it as such," he called out to the physician.

"Poison?" Lucien mouthed in puzzlement.

"The people who are ill, where is the water they use from?" Athos asked, having made the conclusion.

"The town center," d'Artagnan answered. "The water is poisoned; that is done with farm animals when a neighbor wants to take over the farm. . ."

"If you find out which poison, let me know. For now I will treat them differently, and we will stop using the well." Lucien started to give orders to the other caregivers.

Athos nodded. "I am going to speak to Father Ricard." The Father knew more, knew about the poison.

"I am coming with you." d'Artagnan squared his shoulders, trying to rally even though he looked miserable.

Athos led the younger man outside, guiding him along. He would rather have d'Artagnan with him to assure himself the young man would not fall dead. They entered without knocking, calling out for the priest until he appeared slightly disheveled. "Firmin Bau confessed his sins, didn't he, Father."

The priest made the sign of the cross. "Confession is sacred."

"As is human life," d'Artagnan reminded the priest.

"It is why you only drink wine."

The priest did not confirm, but d'Artagnan's retching seemed a fitting answer, much to Father Ricard's horror. "To Bau's?"

Athos put a hand on d'Artagnan's arm, but he shook it off. "Better to get it out."

"Close up the well!" Athos's ordered as he saw one of the men patrolling the street. "It's poison, not the plague!" The exclamation served as a rallying cry as those not compromised followed d'Artagnan and Athos, mounting horses or going by foot, not knowing where they were being led but following the Musketeers.

When they reached Bau's home, the men guarding it laid down their arms and fled instead of facing the angry crowd. Athos stormed in with d'Artagnan by his side.

"We know you poisoned the well."

They found Bau trying to get out a window with his wife in a corner of the home. The window was out, allowing a breeze in, which barely moved the heavy curtains.

"To get the inn and more," d'Artagnan said, adding grit into his voice to overcome the illness.

Bau stepped forward, his wife behind him. "It would have worked, should have. . ."

"The antidote." Athos put his hand out. There was no patience where his men were involved.

Firmin shook his head. "None. I got it from a peddler with no further information. I did not even think it would work or be that potent."

Athos drew his sword, leveling it at the man to judge if he was telling the truth. Disgustingly enough, Firmin knew nothing, by the man's reaction as his eyes rolled to the back of his head in fear. "Lock him up," Athos ordered one of the townspeople. "I also need someone to retrieve our friends; they are on the outskirts of the town."

A man raised his hand in acknowledgement.

d'Artagnan sagged a bit and vomited with the bile landing on Bau's shoes. "My aim has improved." The young man gagged again, bringing up nothing.

The man holding Bau wrinkled his nose at the sour stench. "I'll have someone send Monsieur Campion to the inn."

Athos gave a grateful nod as he grabbed d'Artagnan by the elbow, guiding him to limit his tripping on the uneven floor as he was unsteady on his feet. When mounted, d'Artagnan swayed a moment but held to his resolve to make it to the inn.

Athos noticed the town coming to life without the weight of the plague. Doors were opened, people milling about more than what Athos had seen previously. There were still those who were ill in the tavern and in their own homes, but there was hope.

A teen ran out to them when they stopped in front of the inn. "I'll take care of the horses, Monsieurs."

d'Artagnan dismounted slowly without the finesse he usually had with his horse. He rested against the mare. "There is a stable hand?"

"Apparently so."

Athos steadied his protégé to escort him inside and up the stairs to the room where Athos forced d'Artagnan to sit while he removed his cape, jacket, and vest. The young man was allowed to remove his pants to leave him in the smalls, but the action left him bowed.

Athos removed his cape and jacket, which allowed Aramis's rosary to be viewed. He bent over d'Artagnan to help him sit back, but the young man grabbed the religious beads.

"They're coming?" d'Artagnan rubbed the jeweled cross, tugging it somewhat.

"I expect you will hear them coming up the stairs at any moment," Athos stated, feeling as though this conversation had more to do with d'Artagnan's mortality.

As if he had conjured the sound there was a slow pattering. The door was ajar, but the halting footsteps were not those of Porthos and Aramis, but the physician.

d'Artagnan released the cross.

"What is there to do?" Athos was direct since his concern was focused on the young musketeer.

"Wine and heat until he sweats it out." Lucien was carrying two bottles of wine, setting them down on the table. "It is the best idea I can offer."

"Thank you, Lucien," d'Artagnan answered with a glare at Athos.

Athos nodded, giving a count's dismissal. He remained quiet until the physician left. "We'll wait for Aramis."

d'Artagnan grinned. "Distrustful of Lucien's advice?" He didn't wait for an answer as the Gascon closed his eyes, but was still awake.

"I trust Aramis." Athos moved to the table, opening a bottle of wine to fill two cups. "Although there may be merit." Athos lifted d'Artagnan's hand so he would take the wine.

By the time they finished the cup, Porthos and Aramis had arrived. Their boots clipped up the stairs until Aramis entered through the door first, with Porthos directly behind him filling the doorway.

"Poison's better than the plague." Aramis stepped in, placing a hand on Athos's shoulder. Athos felt grounded by the weight, the closeness of his friends.

"Not much better." Porthos jutted his chin at d'Artagnan. His hair was lanky, face pinched and pale.

"The physician suggested wine and more wine, and for d'Artagnan to sweat out the poison." The older musketeer rattled the directions that had been left.

Aramis pushed back d'Artagnan's hair, leaving his hand settled on the young man's brow. "I am relieved he did not suggest bloodletting." d'Artagnan opened his eyes to follow the sharpshooter's actions. "You've vomited?" d'Artagnan nodded. "We'll need more blankets. I'll start a fire."

"I'll get 'em." Porthos left the room but could be heard entering the other rooms in the inn, opening armoires. He returned with his hands full of woolen knit.

d'Artagnan was malleable until the third blanket. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, hovering on his upper lip, which showed the signs of a mustache in the distant future. His eyes were closed, the heat and poison was leaving him weak. He tried batting away the extra weight; instead Athos forced another cup of wine on him.

The young man grimaced. Athos forced the liquid down, unrelenting with the cup against d'Artagnan's lips. "You two will have to bring Bau and the priest to the Baron of Haute Marne."

"Athos, you need help with d'Artagnan." Aramis was insistent.

They did not want to part so soon, which was understandable. There was still the specter of death, and Athos had taken it upon himself to place himself as the barrier between this world and the next. "Is this not the same you would do?"

"It is, but..."

The nobleman had to exude confidence, not the guilt he felt or the need of his friends. "We will still be here, otherwise I cannot ensure that Bau and Father Ricard will remain alive here in Chaumont." Athos was still a musketeer with a duty.

"With good reason." Porthos grumbled. "If we leave now, we can return by midday tomorrow." The strong man pulled Aramis towards him.

Athos knew they would ride hard, rightfully so, showing less care with the criminals.

The rosary was still around Athos's neck, but d'Artagnan needed it more so he hung it on the bed post, recalling the protective saint medals on his bed as a child. With a hand on d'Artagnan's arm so that Athos would be alerted to the young man's restlessness, Athos sought to get some rest, believing the day would be long.

((()))

d'Artagnan

Day 8

A burn worked its way up his throat to his mouth that had him moaning and turning his head to gag. Athos was there with a well-used bucket; the smell emanating from the vessel was a pungent sour smell of grapes. The odor assaulted d'Artagnan and choked the vomit from him.

He was allowed to rest back on the damp pillows. Everything was damp. Athos's shirt was rolled up, his doublet long since gone. With the blankets lifted there was a moment of coolness which he craved, but the blankets returned. "Water," he asked in a long whine he could not control. "Please. Hot. Water," he begged, seeing the clear liquid in his mind.

"Drink," Athos ordered.

Wine returned to his lips. d'Artagnan turned away from the bitterness, yet the cup chased him until he accepted it. He took one sip, sealing his mouth closed to suffer through the heat.

"Just a little more."

The cup was again on his lips with another hand on his forehead so he could not turn away. d'Artagnan wanted to cry, was crying if the wetness on his face was any indication, so he gave in with a whimper. He coughed after a long pull, his mouth sore and thick in its coating.

"Good." The hand on his forehead drifted away along with the cup.

The young man tried to move his arms, lift them to bring in some freshness. "Help," he called out, but the cry was ignored. Another wave of heat accosted him, taking him away until he floated to minimal awareness.

_"You've returned."_

_"Get some rest, Athos and some air."_

_"It stinks in here. How can you stand it?"_

_"If it gets rid of the poison. . ."_

At some point in his lethargy he realized his friends were talking about him. He had poison burning through him. His body jerked up uncontrolled as his back curved, and hands returned to restrain him.

_"It's too much! The fever is dangerous for the mind."_

d'Artagnan opened his mouth, releasing a high-pitched keen until he saw white sparks that overloaded his mind.

((()))

d'Artagnan

Day 9

Coolness settled on his forehead, permeating down through his neck to sooth the headache centered between his eyes. d'Artagnan sighed. He licked his cracked lips; his throat and stomach felt the same. There was also a deep thirst. After taking a breath and noting it lacked the smell of wine, vomit and sweat, he asked, "Water?"

"Open your eyes."

It sounded like a fair reward. Clean water as long as he awoke fully. It was a challenge to follow through. His eyes were sticky with heaviness. When he pried them open, there was a bright light suddenly smothered by three concerned faces.

They were aware enough to know they needed to quench his thirst. He wanted to be greedy with the water. It was refreshing, soothing the fire, but the cup wavered in front of him until he swallowed and took a breath.

"How do you feel?" Athos seemed as though he should be asked that question with his bloodshot eyes.

"Tired."

Aramis was seated on the bed. "The poison is out of you."

"Good." There was more d'Artagnan needed to know. "The town?"

"Better. Bau will be hanged, and Father Ricard has been posted to a small village known for its goats." Porthos looked to be suppressing a grin.

"Goats?"

"Goats." Aramis confirmed, leaving d'Artagnan to speculate on the punishment.

"Will we leave soon?" There were no restrictions leading d'Artagnan to desire freedom. He couldn't have Constance, his home in Lupiac was gone, but he was a Musketeer willing with a duty, and he had brothers.

"Once we are confident you can sit on a horse we will leave," Athos promised.

((()))

Athos

Day 11

Trapped too long in the town against their will, Athos too was in a rush to leave, so he did not disagree when d'Artagnan pronounced himself fit enough to ride.

Aramis protested, but understood the need after viewing the decimation of Chaumont. They would recover in time with Jean as their new and welcomed leader.

Jean's sons came to see them off. Adolphe stood closely next to his brother Dion, but Adolphe avoided holding his younger brother's hand, no matter how close the younger boy came to his older sibling. However Laure had her brother Yves's hand gripped.

He would not miss the oppression of the quarantine, but he would miss the quirky children who made it almost bearable had d'Artagnan not fallen ill.

"Keep practicing," d'Artagnan told the young charges.

"I'm going to beat Adolphe," Dion said, no longer in a quiet voice.

Adolphe rolled his eyes in protest with Athos giving the boy a nod of understanding.

"There must be a tale in this," Aramis commented. "Porthos, we will have the nag them for the story."

Porthos raised a brow. "d'Artagnan will divulge it."

d'Artagnan shook his head as Laure released her brother's hand and ran to the young musketeer.

"His future wife," Athos mumbled, but Porthos heard him and laughed heartily.

"The younger ones are always put upon." d'Artagnan extricated himself from Laure's grip, wishing her well.

"Put upon? More like spoiled." Athos would not want it any other way.

Aramis grinned. "They should be amusing company for the ride to Paris."

"You prove my point." d'Artagnan lifted his head in pride, sniffing the air as if he was above their teasing.

"Yes, yes, you are abused and we are waiting for you. You did request that we leave. . ." Athos had mounted his horse, as did the others. There would always be unconditional patience when it came to his brothers to see them through.

* * *

><p>The End<p> 


End file.
